“It's time to get up, Bruce, the kids need waking for school,” Clark murmured against his partner’s shoulder, following the words up with a kiss. Bruce barely mumbled against his pillow in response, making Clark sigh. In truth, there was still at least an hour until they had to get up, but Clark knew how long it took to get Bruce up in the morning.

It hadn't even been a particularly long night for the man, but he always tried to stay in the comfort of his bed longer during winter. This was particularly true with Clark in the bed, Bruce himself had admitted, since Clark’s internal body temperature was higher than a human’s– Bruce’s boys liked to call him a portable heater.

Of course Clark could always move, but he was only human (kind of) and curled around a sleepy Bruce Wayne, spooning him close in a state between wakefulness and sleep was just too enjoyable. So, Clark didn't move, hoping to spend the next hour cuddled with a half-asleep Bruce, as opposed to a fully asleep one.

“B,” Clark hummed, smoothing a hand down Bruce’s front. His muscles stayed soft under Clark’s touch, not so much as twitching, so Clark decided to change tactics from soft rubs to light traces with his finger tips. And bingo! A wobbly little exhalation could be heard each time Clark’s fingers fluttered just right over Bruce’s lower stomach, earning Clark the twitches he was looking for.

“Good morning, handsome,” Clark smiled. He pressed a quick peck to the nape of Bruce’s neck, the sleepy man rolling his head back in response. Clark hummed in acknowledgement. Though the reflex was objectively quick, it was relatively slow for Bruce, who seemed mostly unbothered by Clark’s ministrations so far.

Fine, time to be a little meaner.

Clark shuffled forward to press up as close to Bruce’s back as possible, before tracing the soft skin around Bruce’s navel, while his other hand skimmed up to his ribs. He used the finger of that hand to run feather-light strokes against Bruce’s lowest ribs, relishing in the way Bruce’s shoulders began to shake a bit in response.

“So sensitive,” Clark teased, pressing another quick kiss to the back of Bruce’s neck just to make the man’s shoulders shoot up protectively. His hands continued to tease at his partner’s skin, their touch too light to fully wake the man, while being too present for Bruce to completely ignore and sleep through.

“Is it worse in the morning, love? You're just way too sleepy to fight me off, hmm?” Clark whispered it against the side of Bruce’s neck, Clark’s head preventing him from protecting the vulnerable patch of nerves there.

“Kahal,” Bruce huffed out, voice croaky and dry from sleep. Clark fell in love with the man all over again, just as he did most mornings (especially those spent reducing his big, scary bat to a harmless puddle of giggles with his hands).

Clark swapped the hand at Bruce’s ribs to skitter across Bruce’s stomach, drawing the movements out to feel the man’s muscles contract against him. His other hand scritched at Bruce’s chin, making him push his head down reflexively. The movement displayed the back of his neck beautifully for Clark, practically begging for him to kiss it again. So he did.

Clark continued lavishing Bruce’s neck with pecks as his hands kept up the light touches, prompting Bruce to loll his head forward and back, attempting to defend against the ticklish feelings at both his chin and nape.

Eventually he woke enough to get some control of his limbs back, which Clark discovered when two hands grabbed at his wrists, holding on and lightly squeezing them.

Clark relaxed his touches, rubbing against one of Bruce’s pecks and his stomach. He nuzzled into Bruce’s nape just to keep the man on his toes (and to hear his surprised little titters).

“There you are.” Clark’s voice was practically dripping with sentimentality, but where Bruce may have scoffed and pulled away years earlier, the man simply huffed, relaxing further into Clark’s loving hold.

After a moment, Bruce cleared his throat, asking, “w’s that really nec’ssary?” Clark pinched at his stomach in warning, melting at Bruce’s startled answering snicker.

“You weren't waking up,” Clark said, letting the pout make its way into his tone since he knew how it exasperated Bruce. “And you're so grouchy in the morning.”

“‘M not grouchy,” Bruce complained. He turned in Clark’s hold to face him, snuggling back into the pillows with a content sigh. “Not every’ne’s as awake at th’s time as you.” His eyes were drooping, sleep threatening to claim him once again. Not on Clark’s watch.

“It's a weekday,” Clark said. He pecked all over Bruce’s face–the smooth spot where his brows usually furrowed, his cheeks just below the bags staining the skin under his eyes–in an attempt to rouse Bruce more. This attempt backfired, though, Bruce reflexively leaning into Clark’s touch as he began to drift off again. As much as that subconscious action warmed Clark to his core, they really would need to get up eventually, and Clark wanted to laze around in bed with his awake partner for a while first.

“Bruuuce,” Clark sing-songed into the man’s ear, smiling at how he hiked his shoulders up to escape the low word. “The boys have school.”

Bruce groaned, turning his head to burrow it into his pillow like a particularly annoyed cat. He was so cute in the morning. “Then I have work,” Clark continued, rubbing over Bruce’s uncovered shoulder. He then walked two fingers down from that joint to his elbow, chuckling at the goosebumps he left in his wake. “And I want to spend the morning with you first.”

Bruce groaned again but uncovered his face, looking at Clark with glazed-over eyes and a slight smile to his mouth. Clark couldn't help but kiss him, properly this time, utterly smitten with the man. The light flush on his cheeks made him look delightfully alive. “How long until we need to get up?”

Clark looked to the alarm clock, noting that five minutes had already passed just trying to keep Bruce from falling back asleep. “About an hour, just under,” Clark answered. He skritched lightly at Bruce's elbow just to see him blush a little more, still now embarrassed by how sensitive his arms were. Clark then brought his hand to Bruce’s forehead, combing his fringe away from his eyes.

“So we don't need to get up yet,” Bruce surmised, an eyebrow raising at Clark. Clark shrugged, letting his free hand tap against the left of Bruce’s chest in time with his heart. “I'm going back to sleep.”

“You're not,” Clark warned, glaring at him.

“You can't stop me from falling asleep, Clark,” Bruce rolled his eyes. He seemed to realise his mistake the moment the words left his mouth, if the way his eyes gained clarity was any indication. Clark just grinned. That sounded like a challenge.

As Bruce braced himself, Clark simply sighed dramatically, resting his weight against Bruce and rolling them so that Bruce was pinned under Clark, lying on his back.

“I suppose you're right,” Clark hummed, sitting up in Bruce's lap. He pushed down on Bruce’s chest to keep the man from sitting up, though he seemed content enough just to lay back and watch Clark’s antics. Clark knew he was an enabler, really, it was just buried under about five layers of brooding.

“Why don't I help you get back to sleep instead?” Clark smiled at the way Bruce’s face scrunched up slightly in confusion and patted his cheek condescendingly. “What's that song the kids like me to sing to them when they can't sleep? The one they tease you about?”

The shade of red that instantaneously stained Bruce’s face and ears, running down his neck, in response was too good not to laugh at. Clark couldn't help it, he always felt somewhat delirious when Bruce allowed his antics.

“Would it help you get to sleep, too, sunshine?” Clark teased. He felt like a predator toying with his prey, hovering over Bruce’s unmoving form as he was.

“This is ridiculous,” Bruce huffed. It was funny, really, how Clark ‘threatening’ to help him sleep was what woke him up in the end.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine~” Clark loomed over Bruce while singing, a blinding smile firmly in place. Bruce tensed.

“Clark-”

“You make me happy when skies are grey,” He wiggled his fingers, slowly moving them down towards Bruce, drawing this out. He didn't get to be silly with his partner enough, in his humble opinion.

“This is ridiculous,” Bruce huffed, but his cheeks were red and he couldn't quite hide the telling uptick of his mouth. His lack of movement gave him away most, though– Clark may be strong, but he'd never truly trap Bruce, so he could escape whenever he wanted. If he wanted, of course.

“You'll never know dear, how much I love you,” Clark leant down, pressing a kiss to Bruce’s forehead, then each cheek.

“Kal,” Bruce whined, though Clark knew not to comment on his tone, lest he try to hide his handsome face again.

“So please don't take my sunshine away~” Right as he finished singing, Clark struck, holding Bruce’s ribs firmly in his hands and rubbing ticklish circles into them with his thumbs. If he held a bit firmer than strictly necessary just to add to the ticklish sensations at Bruce’s back, well, then, that was Clark’s business thankyou very much.

Bruce’s tension left him, head lolling back on his pillow as he collapsed into bright, wheezy laughter.

He had such a sweet laugh, rough and unused as it was, and Clark delighted in drawing it out of him.

“Hmmm,” Clark hummed with faux confusion, while continuing to tickle Bruce. “You seem even more awake now, did my lullaby not work, B?”

“Nahahah,” Bruce laughed, shaking his head desperately. His heart was slightly elevated and his cheeks were a lovely pink, betraying how much he was enjoying the affection.

“You- you ahahahare tihickling!”

“Oh? I hadn't even noticed. My bad,” Clark teased. He dug his hands into Bruce’s underarms, while settling his weight over the man to get close to his face.

“How much does it tickle, hmm? Are you having fun, sweetheart?” Bruce’s response was no more than cackles and Clark grinned, settling his face in the crook of Bruce’s neck to nibble at the spot.

When Bruce’s laughter turned particularly wheezy, Clark switched his technique to running barely-there touches up and down Bruce’s sides, while continuing to nip at the man’s neck. Bruce didn't quite manage to hide a squeak at the differing sensation, before continuing to lay still and laugh. In fairness, there wasn't much else he could do without tapping out, though he hardly ever did. This was in part due to his pride, but mostly because Clark knew when to stop to avoid pushing Bruce too much.

“Such a tickly ticklish thing, hm?” Clark teased against Bruce’s neck.

“Kahahal, n- nahaha!”

“Oh, no?” Clark blew a quick raspberry on Bruce’s neck, surprising him enough to earn another squeal followed by him bucking up. Clark tsked.

“I think-” another raspberry- “that you, Bruce Wayne-” another- “are sooo ticklish, that I'll have to stay with you at all times to keep you safe from anyone who might use this little fact against you." Clark finished up with one last, long raspberry at the other side of Bruce’s neck.

He sat back up after, easing up on Bruce to make sure he got some air, though the man did keep up a steady stream of laughter as Clark continued to trace his sides.

“You're ehevil,” Bruce huffed out after a while, hands clutching the sheets. His eyes shone with unshed tears and his cheeks were red with exertion, but there was a challenge in his eyes and an excitement in his grin.

“Oh I'll show you evil-” just as Clark dug back into Bruce’s ribs to elicit another bright squeal, the door swung open, revealing a half-awake, disgruntled looking Jason. Oops.

Clark jumped off of Bruce like he'd been burned, face quickly heating up. Though what they were doing was perfectly innocent, Clark knew how their position may have looked without context, and he prayed Jason hadn't noticed.

“Were you… oh my God,” the boy muttered the last bit, almost to himself, before running off. He left the door open behind him.

“Well, that's one way to wake him up,” Bruce joked, sitting up and pecking Clark’s cheek. Clark ignored the way his face kept burning and smiled at Bruce, pecking his nose back.

“Just the other two left, now,” Clark agreed. Jason chose that moment to reappear at their now-open door, looking much more alert than he did before. Dick stood to one side of him, his expression almost disbelieving, while Tim stood at Jason’s other side; the kid looked to be barely awake, swaying on the spot.

“Boys,” Bruce greeted, stretching and yawning. Clark reminded himself not to stare right now.

“Were you tickling him?” Jason demanded, completely disregarding Bruce to stare Clark down. Wait, hadn't Clark tickled Bruce in front of them before?

He thought back, trying to remember a single time he had, but ultimately coming up short. Huh.

“Well sure,” Clark smiled. “It's sometimes the only way to get him up in the morning.” Dick snorted at that, while Jason just looked determined, gaze moving to stare Bruce down.

“We’re owed some vengeance!" Jason demanded, inviting himself further into their room with Dick and Tim at his heels. Clark felt more than heard Bruce sigh next to him.

“You're welcome to try, Jaybird. I'd be more than happy to remind you how ticklish your hips are,” Bruce teased, cracking his knuckles. Jason’s face reddened and he snarled at Bruce. Clark thought he may have actually been about to try to take Bruce on alone before Dick cut in.

“Clark can help us,” he assured, looking at Clark with puppy-dog eyes that still managed to tug at his heart strings, no matter how ingenuine he knew them to be. “That is, if he cares about justice. Don't you think we deserve a little payback?”

Both Dick and Jay’s eyes were practically begging him to help, while Tim flopped onto the bed by Bruce’s legs sleepily.

Clark looked to Bruce. He could see the boys’ point, really. They deserved to get their dad back at least once (plus,a more selfish part of Clark could admit that he'd never get enough of Bruce’s laugh). At the same time, though, he wasn't sure if Bruce would actually be okay with that, since the kids might not think to watch Bruce’s microexpressions for any signs of true discomfort. Plus, Clark had already tickled him a fair bit this morning, and it was barely 7:30am.

Bruce, for his part, just raised an eyebrow at Clark. He seemed almost amused, if his goading smirk was anything to go by. Huh, maybe Clark worried too much. These were Bruce’s kids after all, plus, Clark could watch to make sure they didn't actually take the playfulness too far.

“Well, Kal?” Bruce spoke, carding a hand through Tim’s sleep-ruffled hair. The kid was mostly asleep again. He and Bruce were so alike, sometimes. “Think you can help the boys bring me to justice?”

There were very few people in this world that would describe Superman as evil, and even fewer who would describe Clark that way. In that moment, though, the smile that Clark felt overtake his features couldn’t be described in any other way. Oh, it was on.

“I'll hold his arms. Boys, have fun." Clark noted Dick and Jason’s matching grins, smiling at them for just a moment, before pouncing at Bruce.

Bruce’s smile was dangerous as he went straight for Clark’s ribs, knowing it was his only chance of winning this.

“Juhust accept your fahahate!” Clark laughed as Bruce tased his ribs. He reached out instead of defending himself, grabbing Bruce’s hips. It probably wouldn't have been enough to get Clark the upperhand, had Jason not snuck up to Bruce while he was distracted and squeezed just above the knee closest to him. Bruce went down quick, and Clark rushed to secure his arms.

“I'll get you back, Jaylad,” Bruce warned, but it wasn't fighting back as much as Clark knew he could, it seemed to be more of a show for the kids. He probably figured they'd feel more accomplished that way, and though Clark doubted Dick would fall for it, Jason was grinning victoriously.

“Worth it,” the boy snarked, climbing onto the bed.

Once Clark had wrangled Bruce onto his stomach and sat above his head, legs securing his arms, he looked up to see the boys.

Jason was practically vibrating in his spot next to Bruce’s side, while Dick was perched on the left, a still dozing Tim on his lap.

“Get him warmed up for us, Jay, Timmy needs a little more time to wake up,” Dick encouraged. He was rubbing Tim’s back and stroking through his hair, while nuzzling their cheeks together. Clark’s heart sung at the sight, and looking down revealed a similarly adoring look on Bruce’s face too.

“Okay, B, get ready for payback!” Jason was grinning wildly and he sat up on his knees, hands ready.

“Do your worst,” Bruce teased. He winked up at Clark and Clark knew he'd blushed in response when he got a look at Bruce’s self-satisfied smile. Oh, he was really asking for it.

“Go for his thighs, Jay,” Clark said, watching as Bruce's smirk turned into a glare. Jason gave Clark a mock salute before shuffling further down the bed. Unfortunately for Bruce, his linen pyjama bottoms wouldn't protect him much from his son’s attack, and his shirtlessness definitely didn't help defend him any.

Jason went for that same spot from earlier, this time on both sides. His little hands squeezed just above the backs of Bruce’s knees over and over again and every now and then he looked up at Bruce for a reaction.

Unfortunately, Bruce wasn't going easy on Jason at all, levelling out his breathing and schooling his expressions.

“He's being annoying,” Jason huffed with a pout, still squeezing away. “How'd you make him laugh, Clark?"

Clark smiled at him reassuringly. “Your dad's a pretty tough nut to crack, Jay, I caught him off guard while he was sleeping. He's pretty good at hiding his reactions.” Jason’s frown deepened, so Clark continued. “Except with one spot.”

“Which spot?” Dick asked, still cradling a sleepy Timmy but watching Bruce intently. The man in question stayed quiet, likely knowing what Clark’s next move would be and trying to prepare himself. Luckily for the boys, it would all be for nought when Clark started.

He held his hands up at either side of Bruce’s neck and wiggled his fingers, grinning as Bruce flushed just a bit. While he wasn't squirming, he was very obviously fighting to tamp down on a smile, and he only mostly succeeded.

“Woah! You're not even tickling him yet, is his neck really that bad?” That was Jason again, whose eyes were wide with shock. Clark really did need to start getting Bruce in front of the boys.

“Mhmm. His neck’s super ticklish! All it takes is one little finger-” Clark ran a finger down the side of Bruce’s neck, smiling fondly at the trail of goosebumps it left. Bruce’s shoulder tried to come up to protect the spot, but it was a struggle against how Clark had him pinned, and Clark outmatched even the Bat in raw strength.

“Woah,” a little voice breathed out. It was Tim, Clark realised, staring at his hands at Bruce’s neck with something like wonder. “Can I try?”

“Sure, Timmy, come sit with me,” Clark said, moving over to make room for Tim at Bruce’s head next to him. Bruce grumbled but stayed still, mostly resigned to his fate now. Dick shuffled himself a little closer to his dad too.

Tim copied Clark’s earlier movements exactly, wiggling his finger just inches from Bruce’s neck. It yielded the same result; Bruce trying and failing not to laugh.

“Ready, B? It looks like this is gonna tickle pretty bad,” Tim said, not waiting for an answer before moving. He skittered his fingers lightly over Bruce’s neck.

Though the movements were unrefined from lack of practice–Tim was often the one on the receiving end of this treatment, after all–the reaction was immediate.

Bruce tried again in vain to hike his shoulders up, though the rest of him stayed still. His smile turned to light huffs of laughter and Clark chuckled.

“I can't believe you've been holding out on us, B!” Dick laughed. “You said his thighs are pretty good? Will they work better now Timmy’s got him laughing?”

Clark hummed in affirmation. He reached out to hold one of Bruce’s hands, smiling when Bruce squeezed. It was sweet of him to let the boys have their fun and Clark felt helplessly endeared all over again.

A quick shout of laughter sounded through the room and Clark realised Dick had started pinching at the backs of Bruce’s knees. His movements were lighter and more precise than Jason’s, quickly jumping up and down Bruce’s legs rather than staying in one spot.

The boys all cheered when Tim found that particularly ticklish spot at the nape of Bruce’s neck and the man finally began to laugh in earnest.

“Bohohoys-” Bruce said, clearly trying to sound scolding but failing spectacularly. He had a lovely smile on his face, especially coupled with the spattering of pink on his cheeks.

“What's wrong, B?” Jason asked, crawling up the bed a bit to sit near Bruce's ribs. “Does it tickle tickle tickle?” he ran clawed hands across Bruce’s back and the man snorted before succumbing to a new stream of loud, wheezy laughter. The boys were laughing too, Clark realised, amused by their dad’s reactions. Clark chuckled, squeezing Bruce’s hand again and receiving another squeeze in response.

“Remember what he said to you the other day, Tim? About keeping you in the manor since you're so ticklish?” Jason was grinning, and Tim only flushed with a light nod, continuing to skitter his fingers over the back of Bruce’s neck. “Maybe we need to do that for B, since he's so ticklish! What if a rogue found out, huh? Gotham would be done for!”

Of course it was unlikely a rogue ever would find out about the specific weakness of Bruce’s, and even if they did they'd have to get past both his physical and mental armour to elicit a response, yet Bruce still laughed a little harder in response.

“Okahahay, okahahay. No mohohore boys!”

“I think we get to decide when you've had enough. You just lay back and laugh, dad,” Dick laughed, drilling his thumbs into the backs of Bruce’s knees while he spoke. The man twitched a little in response, but he kept them stubbornly still aside from that. He was too distracted keeping his legs in check, though, to hold back his heightening laughter.

Bruce snorted, descending into hazy cackles.

“Oh my God!” Jason cheered. “Do it again, Dickie.” Dick obliged and Bruce once again snorted, shoving his head into his covers. The boys laughed, each speeding up their tickling in an attempt to make Bruce snort again.

After they'd clawed the sound out of him one more time (Jason’s hands strayed too close to the man’s ribs, scratching near the delicate bones) Clark squeezed Bruce’s hand again. When he didn't receive an answering squeeze, he knew the man had had enough.

“Okay, boys, let him breathe now," Clark encouraged, pulling Tim into his lap with one hand, while the other continued to hold Bruce’s. Dick immediately moved back, seemingly also having realised that Bruce had reached his limit, but Jason kept going.

“C’mon please Jay. Your dad’s had enough.”

“What? No way! We have so much to get back at him for!” Jason protested. Thankfully Dick pinched the boy’s hip, pulling him into his lap when Jason tried to curl up to protect himself.

“You okay, B?” Tim asked, wringing his hands nervously. Clark rubbed at his shoulder comfortingly, not wanting the boy to worry too much.

“I'm fine, Tim,” Bruce assured after a minute, sitting up with a groan. “If I were you, though, I'd start running, boys.”

Before they could get up, Clark cut in with, “wait, no, go get ready for school please, boys. Bruce, you can get your revenge when they come home again at the end of the day.” Bruce rolled his eyes but didn't argue, nodding at the boys to listen to Clark.

“Shit, yeah, you're gonna make us late!” Jason exclaimed, racing out of the room, presumably to change for school.

“Language,” Dick scolded, following Jason into the corridor. “Take a nap, B, it helps,” he teased on his way out.

“You're okay, right?” Tim asked Bruce, still fiddling with his hands in Clark’s lap. Bruce huffed in amusement, turning to face Tim properly. He ruffled the boy’s hair and Tim leaned into the touch happily.

“I'm fine, Timmy, promise. I was overdue for some revenge from you all, don't you think?” His hand swept down to Tim’s neck, wiggling his fingers a little. Tim squealed and pulled his shoulders up, shifting away from him. Bruce chuckled. “Besides, I'll get you all back after school anyway. Go get dressed, sweetheart.”

Tim nodded, smiling at both Bruce and Clark as he began to shuffle towards the edge of the bed. Clark smiled back, heart warm with affection.

“As for you,” Bruce started, snapping Clark out of his thoughts. “We have some time while the kids get ready. Do your knees still make you snort?” Clark was given no time to process Bruce's words before the man had laid across Clark, squeezing at his knees.

The turns were tight, the pathways cramped, but that’s where Dick’s small size did provide an advantage. Get the eyes off him, then find a proper place to hide. Just like he’d been taught. After winding through several nooks and crevices, Dick finally slowed to a stop in a little alcove bracketed by corals of vibrant reds and oranges. The red and yellow of his tail would blend nicely, here — the green, not so much. He’d just have to hope it looked like algae at a distance, a simple part of the ecosystem from any hunters swimming above. His gills fluttered down the column of his neck, but he forced his breathing steady. Moments later, a black blur shot past his hiding place. Dick resisted the urge to flinch away or duck down; the movement would only catch a hunter’s eye and give him away.

Heart pounding, Dick counted the seconds. Every little movement set him on edge, from the idle sway of nearby seaweed to fish darting past. Eventually, his coiled muscles started to relax. Was he successful? Did he evade his pursuer? The black scales would’ve  starkly stood out in such a colorful reef, and he hadn’t felt the subtle currents of something large moving through the water in several minutes. Slowly, Dick started creeping out of his hiding spot, making sure to check above him. The coast was clear, but only for now. All he had to do was get back to the pod’s cavern and—

Large hands snapped around Dick’s waist, digging in before he could even react. A shriek tore from his throat, making room for his heart to settle there instead. He thrashed his tail, wrenched at the arms of his captor, but to no avail. Even as the fingers kept probing, the hands reeled him back against a broad chest. Startled speechless with no chance to brace himself, Dick was helpless to succumb to his laughter. His captor’s chest rumbled with its own fond chuckle.

“Caught you, little fishie,” Bruce hummed. 

Dick chittered in protest, but before he could remind Bruce that he was not a guppy, thank you very much, Bruce’s fingers launched upward and buried themselves in his armpits. Dick’s laughter jumped again, interspersed with screechy yelps. His gills flapped against his neck as they tried to keep up.

“Now, where did you go wrong, chum?” 

Dick shook his head, turning to look at Bruce over his shoulder. “I didn’t! You’re just a cheat!”

“Oh? And how would I do that? I can’t sniff you out Dickie, I’m not a shark.”

“I dunno! You just— did!”

Bruce hummed, pausing his attack. Dick sagged in his arms, twitching as the idle currents of the water jostled him against Bruce’s still fingers. He couldn’t help the nervous chitters that escaped him, nor the flush that crawled up his face as Bruce’s mouth ticked up into a smirk from the sound.

“You know what? You may be right.”

Dick twisted around even more, narrowing his eyes up at Bruce. He knew Bruce had to have cheated! He’d been hidden so well. There was no way—

“Let’s see.” Bruce hauled Dick up even closer, tucking his nose close to Dick’s neck. He took a long sniff.

Oh. Oh, no.

“You’re onto something there, chum. Looks like I can sniff things out like a shark — but you know what I smell instead of blood?”

Dick bit his lip, squirming in Bruce’s arms. “What?”

Bruce inched his face closer and murmured, “Ticklish little fish.” He gave a menacing growl, fully burying his face in the crook of Dick’s neck. “And I’m hungry.”

Dick squealed as Bruce nuzzled in. Bruce’s growling vibrated into the sensitive skin of Dick’s neck, even as his stubble caught on the seams of his now-sealed gills with every movement. When he brought his sharp teeth into the mix, nipping at the skin as if he were eating Dick and making ridiculous “om-nom-nom” noises, Dick was lost. His giggles were frantic and squeaky and panicked, and he was dizzy with how giddy and bubbly he felt. While his neck wasn’t one of his worst spots, Bruce’s proximity and teasing never failed to make him feel like he was buzzing out of his own skin. It was like it made everything nelse feel more ticklish.

Which was a problem when Bruce brought his hands back into the mix, skittering and squeezing up and down Dick’s sides. He rocketed into belly laughter, tugging at Bruce’s wrists and trying to force Bruce out of his neck with his head and shoulder. When none of that worked, he resorted to beating his tail backwards against Bruce’s own.

“Oh, really? You sure you wanna do that?” 

Dick threw his tail back particularly hard, just to be a menace. 

Bruce hummed into his neck, drawing out one last squeal, before Dick was suddenly released and the world went spinning. He yelped, trying to get his bearings. Before he could, he felt Bruce’s hands lock on to the base of his tail, just above his fins. 

Dick sucked in a giddy breath. “Bruce, wait!”

Bruce did not wait. He squeezed up and down the muscles beneath Dick’s scales with one hand, using the other to keep his grip. Dick burst into cackles, twisting up his tail to try and dislodge Bruce or pull his hands away or something. In response, Bruce started swimming backwards. Not quickly, but enough that the drag of water pulled Dick taut and kept him stuck there, since all his laughter and squirming had left him feeling like his muscles were made of jellyfish.

He snorted when Bruce squeezed at the lower half of his tail, snickering and wiggling as much as he could. The upper half of his tail, though? Dick thought he might lose his mind. His scales provided no protection, the ticklish sparks digging so deep that it felt as though his entire nervous system was lighting up with them. He couldn’t speak or bargain or free himself, all Dick could do was laugh himself silly while Bruce the Tickle-Shark tickled all the giggles out of him.

He’d never say it to Bruce’s face, but this was his favorite part of training. 

Eventually, Dick’s laughter went silent, and Bruce had mercy. He stopped swimming and hauled Dick up into his arms, chuckling as Dick hiccuped out residual giggles and giddy chitters. After a few minutes, Dick heaved a sigh and snuggled deeper into Bruce’s hold, clicking at him with contentment. Bruce clicked back.

“Back with me, chum?”

“Mhm.” Dick nodded, stretching out his tail and back as best he could without shifting out of Bruce’s arms.

“Alright. Same rules as before: stealth, speed, and agility to get back to the cave, don’t let me catch you. This time, don’t only look up before trying to sneak away. You have a five second headstart.”

Dick gaped up at Bruce. He raised an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth twitching like he was hiding a smile. “Five, four—“

With Bruce’s wealth and influence, he was able to take a ward into his care, then under his roof within forty eight hours. He couldn’t say which part he’d been dreading more, but all of the tedious legalities and fine print, that was done. It had been done for what was coming up on two weeks.

Dick was despondent, haunted. He didn’t speak unless spoken to. Bruce understood, or at least he thought he would. And yet, he felt so helpless. Bringing a child into your home, you expected to feel lighter. The empty hallways would fill with laughter, framed photos, and discarded toys. The manor was silent. The air was thick, and with every breath he saw the young acrobat swallow, he held his own breath as he waited for it to catch, and for Dick to begin to cry. You could hear it every night, no thanks to the thin walls, and it was just guttural. It made Bruce’s stomach churn.

“I don’t know what to do for him, Alfred. You would think something like this… I would know what to say or do. But I don’t, and this is swallowing him whole.” Bruce held his head in his hands. Alfred lingered in the doorway to his study. A soft click sounded as he closed them inside. Please. Tell me how to make it better, just like you always do.

“Master Bruce, it has been less than a month since the lad lost them… his mother and father. It has been less than a month since his entire world caved in around him. Of course this is… swallowing him whole.” The butler’s posture tightened.

“It felt like there was nothing I could do for you when you were a boy. And, Master Bruce, if I may… what did you remember wanting? What did you think would make it better?”

He had to stew with that for a moment. He wanted revenge as time went on. He manufactured all of his vices into The Batman. But in the immediate wake of his loss of innocence?

“I only wanted them back, Alfred.” Bruce croaked.

“Yes, sir. I concur. But that isn’t something you can give to Master Dick, is it?” As much as having to be walked through this made Bruce’s palms sweat and wrench shut, how many times has he insisted on walking alone, and somebody else has paid the price because of it? He had a child now. That was what he had done. He didn’t get to be selfish or prideful.

“No… no, it’s not.”

“Master Dick must be feeling very lost right now. I’d doubt he can see two feet in front of him. Hold his hand… I do believe that you’ll find the rest happens rather naturally.”

“I never saw myself caring for a child again. Not after Julia.” There was a sullen silence, “And yet, there you were, and it was no longer even a question in my mind.”

“You have a kind heart, Master Bruce. There is… so much love that you could give to that boy. I would find it deeply tragic if that was withheld from him because you are afraid of making a mistake.”

It really was that simple. “We do what we can.” Bruce recited, lifting his head to the man who raised him.

Weathered hands rested on his shoulders before adjusting his suit jacket. “You are correct, sir… we do what we can.”

* * *

Bruce had traversed every room on the ground floor, and was nearing the end of his search on the second. A light on down the hallway, one of the manor’s more extravagant bathrooms. Under the assumption that Dick was exploring, he approached to knock on the doorframe. He gave a gentle smile that the boy didn’t return when they locked eyes.

“Having a look around?” He began. He wasn’t sure if it was what he would have wanted as an angry, mourning child; to be approached like a prey animal. But it was his first instinct. Dick didn’t seem to take any offense to it.

“Um… yeah.”

“I know it can feel a little big and scary at first. People make up a lot of campfire stories about old homes like this. But you’ve gotta be one of the bravest kids I know.” Bruce’s smile fell when his ward’s lip quivered, expression pulling together in anguish. He didn’t hesitate this time, he couldn’t. Dick fell into his arms when he knelt down to offer them. Bruce stood, cradling the boy close, holding his head to his shoulder. He left his hand to tangle in Dick’s hair, and swayed them back and forth.

“I know, I know…” He soothed once, but said nothing else. What was there to be said? He did know. It tormented him to this day and every day since that night. He just hoped that Dick wouldn't become like him. That was up to Bruce now, wasn’t it? To ensure that this child didn’t make the same missteps he did, that he can one day be happy. He’ll do what he can.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do anything anymore… how I’m gonna live now that they’re gone.” Dick whispered. Bruce gave a soft hum of acknowledgment.

“Well… it won’t ever be the same. It’s going to feel like your life split in two between when you had mom and dad, and when you didn’t. It’s… going to be very hard. You’ll have to learn how to keep going.” Bruce stopped to think. He knew that with where his train of thought was heading, he needed to be careful.

“You won’t be alone. I can’t replace your mom and dad or the love they had for you… but I’m going to take care of you the best I can now that your life has changed.”

He set Dick on the bathroom counter to meet his eyes. “It won’t always hurt this bad. Alfred and I are going to do everything in our power to make sure of that. And someday, when you’re feeling strong enough again, it’ll come from you.” Bruce set his fingertips over the little acrobat’s heart. He didn’t doubt for a second that Dick would fly again one day, he swung around on that trapeze like he was born to do it, and the world would really miss a smile like his. One day, he’d be okay.

Dick turned away, but nodded his head meekly. Bruce set a box of tissues in his lap. “All that crying give you a headache?”

His smile was sympathetic when Dick responded with a nasally, “Yeah…” and blew his nose.

“When I was your age, I used to like to take hot baths. The steam is good for your head and your sinuses, it’s nice and relaxing too.” Dick seemed to like that idea, he got a little twinkle in his eyes.

“Yeah? You want to?” His nodding was the slightest bit eager. Even emotionally distraught, mourning children weren’t always too difficult to please.

“If you want to look in the cabinet below the sink, there should be a few scented candles. We’ll light one for you.” Bruce also thought that kids liked being given choices… and smelling things.

While Dick rummaged around the aforementioned candle cabinet, he ran a hot bath. Bruce never liked too many bubbles when he was a kid, they would irritate his eyes and nose. He used a sparing amount of the solution, enough to fully cover the water with a few inches of lathered soap.

Fittingly, the boy who Bruce brought home from a traveling circus picked out a sugary candle that he said smelled like funnel cake. He didn’t doubt Dick’s judgement. He dug up an old matchbox from the next room over, and returned to find his ward submerged in the bath up to his shoulders, looking cozy.

“Ready to light the candle?” Dick gave him a tiny little something that just barely surpassed smile criteria, and already, the things that Bruce wouldn’t do for this boy. He struck the match, and soon enough, a wick flickered between them. “Alright… there you go.”

Now leaning against the far wall of the bathtub, Dick slunk down into the water, eyelids heavy.

“I’ve got one more thing to show you.” Bruce spoke, and he came to attention again, blue eyes weary, but curious. He held out the charred match, “You see it?”

Dick awkwardly nodded along, unsure of what the point was. It was a simple sleight of hand, but Bruce made the match “disappear,” before his very eyes. He smiled when the boy sat up a little straighter.

“How’d you do that??” He peered over the lid of the tub, trying to find the missing match, but it was safely hidden away in Bruce’s sleeve by now.

“A magician never tells his secrets, Dick.”

A small smile wobbled on his face. “You’re not a magician…”

“Then how’d I do it?” That earned Bruce a shy titter and a shrug. Apparently a hot bath was a very good call on his part, he hadn’t seen Dick laugh at all since leaving the circus.

As the evening progressed, Dick would allow Bruce to wash his hair and back, wrap him up in a beach towel that absolutely ate him alive, and haul him off to get ready for bed.

Now, sitting on the end of said bed and smoothing the covers under Dick’s chin, Bruce asked the million dollar question. “Are you feeling a little better than earlier?”

Dick’s expression fell for a moment. His brow furrowed, his lips pursed. He considered it. Bruce had a feeling he knew what was going through his head.

Am I allowed to feel better? Am I betraying my mom and dad if I do?

“Yeah… a little, I think.” You’re doing so good.

“…Thank you, Bruce.”

“You don’t have to thank me for tha—“ He stopped short when something plush brushed the side of his face. The plush Dick brought with him from the circus, an elephant. Zikta? He was pretty sure. He glanced at the toy questioningly.

“She gave you a little kiss.” Dick explained. Ah. Why, yes. Of course.

“Well, I’m just about the luckiest guy in Gotham City tonight, hm?” Bruce jested, petting the plush’s head with his pointer finger. Dick smiled and hugged Zikta to his chest again to nuzzle her. His dimpled cheek smushed against her head.

“Yes…” He sheepishly replied. His voice held a vague undercurrent of playfulness. But they could play tomorrow.

“You two get some rest.” Bruce dimmed the lights. He’d stopped fully turning them off since the onset of Dick’s night terrors.

“Goodnight, Dick. I’m right across the hall if you need anything.” He got a sleepy hum, more content than he’d ever heard from the boy.

Leaving the door parted, Bruce left for his own room. Surely it came as a surprise to no one that Alfred was right: this kind of love came naturally, and so, so fast. He’d dedicated himself to The Flying Grayson’s little boy the moment their hearts stopped beating, and he would do what he could. He may never be able to rebuild Dick’s world to what it once was, but Dick was already his world.

* * *

“Bruce c’mon, c'mon!"

Progress was a steady incline. Dick’s perkiness in the face of adversity was unbelievable. Bruce wouldn’t take credit for any of it. Dick was such a strong kid.

He was forming a stronger attachment to Bruce. He trusted him, he asked for things he needed and wanted, he liked to play and be close, and was definitely not at all shy about that. Bruce was being ushered into the theater. Dick was ecstatic when he first found out about it, like any young performer probably would be.

“Alright, alright… what’d you throw together this time?” Dick didn’t stop pushing until he was firmly seated in the front row. There was a small, foldable table covered with a white bedsheet. Dick was currently doing something behind it. When his little head popped back up, he was wearing a top hat that looked to be made out of construction paper.

“Magic show.” He replied in a delighted whisper. Bruce smiled. He wasn’t expecting to be blown away, but this would be cute.

“You ready?”

“Show me some magic, Dickie.”

Dick took off his hat, and very, very gently set it down on the table. There must have been something he hid inside. He had a pencil that he painted in the traditional magician’s black and white, which he tapped the top of the hat with. The sound of something hitting the table could be heard. Upon lifting the hat, there were three marbles. Bruce raised an eyebrow and clapped for the aspiring magician.

The show went on, and Bruce was sure that Dick must have read a book or something. Some of the tricks were sillier or less well executed than others, but it was all much more legitimate than he would expect from his elementary school aged son.

“Ward,” stopped being able to define how he saw Dick quite a while ago now.

“And for my final trick, I will need a volunteer from the audience!” His son announced. Bruce performatively looked to either side of him.

“Zikta was gonna sit next to you, but I spilled paint on her. Alfred said he’d give her a bath…”

“You’ll have to tell her all about your magic show when she’s done. Guess I’m volunteering then?” Dick smiled and scurried forward.

“You have to close your eyes.” He instructed. Bruce’s hands were haphazardly shoved in front of his eyes either way. “You can’t peek, that’ll ruin the magic, okay?”

“Mhm…”

Bruce thought he felt something hit him. It was very fine, if it was anything at all. Barely there.

“You can open them.” That was Dick’s, “I did something naughty,” voice. Bruce sighed, and what he found covering him was not barely there. It would, in fact, be there for months to come. Gold glitter. Dick’s hands were similarly covered in it, no plausible deniability for this suspect.

In retaliation, Dick received the, “Really?” look. He bit his lip under a big, goofy smile.

“And what might you call this magic trick? Is it something special that you came up with?”

“It’s pixie dust…” Even if that were to be possible, Dick was a terrible liar.

“Pixie dust.”

“Does that mean I can fly now?”

“Maybe if you think of a wonderful, happy little thought.” Dick quipped. He squealed with laughter and took off when Bruce grabbed at him. Somehow, someway, this young child gave Batman a run for his money when it came to agility. Once Bruce actually got his hands on Dick, it was game over. But gosh, he was a slippery little thing.

He was beginning to learn that if he waited for long enough, Dick would grow impatient, and come to him. Bruce could usually catch the boy better if he had less of a head start. So, he meandered into the den, and sat down. It didn’t take long for Wayne Manor’s most wanted little troublemaker to come sneaking down the hall with a pout. Bruce felt a presence behind the chair he’d stationed himself in to play the waiting game.

“I know you’re back there.”

“Yeah, but I betcha’ can’t get me.” Dick taunted. In every aspect of his life, Bruce was a strategist. He’d chosen a suitable post for capturing the wiggly, borderline contortionist. You know, the one with the boundless energy and competitive spirit.

“I bet I can.” A recliner. Just tipping back, Bruce was able to snatch Dick around the middle before he could weasel away. He squished his squirmy son against him, playfully smothering him to transfer as much of the glitter as possible. Dick was crying for help from Alfred in the kitchen. Hearing his laughter, Alfred was in no hurry, but eventually appeared in the doorway with a knowing smile and a dish cloth thrown over his shoulder.

“Quite the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in, young master.”

“He’s tickling me!” Dick accused through childish laughter.

“Oh, how terrible!” Alfred gasped. Dick got the chance to whine the butler’s name in protest before Bruce stopped, loosening his hold to something more tender. Dick settled in his lap with a final huff of a giggle.

“It wasn’t on purpose.” He admitted, “but you shouldn’t be giving me any ideas either.” Bruce scratched under Dick’s chin with his pointer finger, more endearment than tickling. Dick grumbled and shook his head around before he wriggled away to find the next best fun thing to do. Bruce let him go.

* * *

Any fun that was being had in the den earlier had long passed. Bruce was seated with a clipboard, clipped to it were tax documents. He mindlessly lifted his arms to accommodate the child that was now sprawled out over his legs, having plopped down without warning shortly before.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Some very boring grownup things.” It wasn’t even a lie to get Dick to go away. It was the truth. He got an awkward, “Ohh…” in response. Normally, in a quiet room like this, Dick would have run off by now to either find something to do by himself… or to find something to throw at Bruce. He meant that in both a literal and figurative sense. It depended on the day.

But he was just staring.

“You’re looking at me funny. What do you want?” Bruce set the clipboard aside.

Dick grinned. “…I dunno.”

“You don’t know?” Bruce echoed with a small smile. He wasn’t the world’s greatest detective for no reason. This wasn’t some grand mystery by normal parenting standards. The kid looked like a puppy who wanted a belly rub.

“I think you do know.” He gently teased, spidering a hand all around Dick’s torso like it had a mind of its own. Bruce could fairly confidently say his educated guess was correct when his son curled up and dissolved into happy giggles.

He lingered mostly around Dick’s stomach and sides. Traveling much higher got him thrashing, and Bruce would really rather not have Dick fall and crack his head open on the end of the coffee table. Presumably growing tired, he rolled onto his front to protect it. Bruce rested his hands on his back.

“Had enough?” A muffled, whiny noise came from his lap. There was probably a word in there somewhere, but he couldn’t make it out, “I don’t know what that means, chum.” He wasn’t graced with any other squeaky context clues.

“Fine… give me this.” Bruce snagged one of Dick’s ankles from where they’d been dangling idly, his legs bent at the knee. Immediately, he jerked in alarm. Dick kicked and nudged at the hand holding his one foot captive with the other, but all he succeeded in doing was accidentally tickling himself, if the way he shuddered was anything to go off of.

“If this doesn’t tucker you out, I don’t know what will.” Dick burst into loud laughter and flailed around like a fish out of water when his foot was tickled. Entertained as he was, Bruce didn’t have the heart to keep it up for long with his boy squirming so desperately. Dick’s ankle was unceremoniously dropped.

He kicked and shook his foot around, ridding of any lingering sensations, and promptly made himself very comfortable. Head-in-the-lap, stolen-throw-blanket comfortable.

“I bet you think you’re sleeping here tonight, don’t you?”

Dick yawned, loud and fake. Bruce shook his head. He’d be asleep soon anyway.

Ultimately, the plan of Wayne Manor’s most wanted was foiled, and, unbeknownst to him, he was tucked into bed.

Jason and Bruce’s mouths snap closed at the British Cough™ that sounds through the Batcave. Their eyes swivel to Alfred, looking down his nose at the pair of them, polished shoes glinting in the eerie light from the computer dominating the far wall. He studies them intently, in the way only wizened gentlemen dealing with rambunctious children could. 

The pair of vigilantes had only just pulled up in the Batmobile, and judging by the tension pulling on their mouths, they’d been having this argument the entire ride home. Bruce seemed fine, just a few bruises here and there, typical after a night of fighting Gotham’s dark underbelly. Though his weight was distributed slightly to the left, barely noticeable, and obviously trying to keep it quiet in favour of whatever Jason had been through that night. 

Jason’s whole form was tense, agitation tugging at his shoulders to make them curl inward. Though from years of experience, Alfred could also see it for what it really was: a defensive hunch to protect a vulnerability. Goodness knows, Dick did the same thing when he was trying to prove himself and didn’t want either of the older men to see an injury he’d gained accidentally. You had to learn the tells to call young heroes out on their bullshit.  

Boys will be boys, testing Alfred’s patience. 

“Masters,” Alfred says, both as a greeting and a reprimand. “If you are quite finished butting heads, I believe there is ice upstairs for your leg, Master Bruce.” 

He didn’t even acknowledge the man’s surprise - a minor twitch of his shoulders, so overdramatic - before he was turning to their resident Robin, who looked far too smug at his guardian being chastised.  “If you don’t mind, Master Jason, I would like to check over any possible scrapes you received tonight. It would be quite unfortunate to have to miss school due to injury.”

Jason blinks up at him, lips parted. Then he grumbles and slinks forward like a pissed-off cat, heading for one of the cots Bruce had set up in the corner of the Batcave. Bruce follows, tugging the cowl off. 

“It was an ambush from Penguin, Jason got outnumbered and sustained a few-”

Jason rounds on him with a growl. “As if you were doing any better, I handled them.”

“After I got you an opening with a Batarang. Jason, if I hadn’t-”

“That is quite enough!” 

It was remarkable, really, how his voice was enough to shut both of them up in a split second. Alfred took the cowl from Bruce’s hands with a decisive tug and leveled him with a flat look. “Upstairs, Master Bruce. You are tired and likely high-strung from the testing events of tonight. Let me look at the boy before you lecture him.”

Bruce opened his mouth, then promptly closed it when Alfred didn’t waver. He sighs, deep and heavy. A glance at his sidekick makes something tug his mouth down further. Before Jason can say anything to add fuel to the fire, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the cave with a whirl of his black cape, disappearing into the elevator shaft. 

Alfred sighs, depositing the cowl and approaching Jason, who’s glaring after his adoptive father. “It was a few lucky punches. I had it under control.” He grouched. 

“I have no doubt you would’ve,” Alfred appeases him, tugging the tray of medical supplies closer, and pats the bed. “Up on the cot, if you please.”

Jason moodily hikes himself onto the mattress, his boots dangling far from the floor in all his 4’6 glory. The stark reminder of just how small the boy was had Alfred mentally add more to Jason’s future diet. His growth had been stunted horribly from his time on the streets, and Alfred was doing everything in his power to encourage the boy’s body to continue growing. 

“He should trust me.”

The sulky words pull Alfred from his thoughts. “He does, Young Master. Possibly more than you think.”

A scoff. “Then why does he act like I’m just a kid? I can handle myself.”

Alfred caught the slight note of insecurity that hid in the corners of the bitter words, tucked close to the edges like it could blend in and be written off as annoyance. Like it wasn’t a desperation that ate away at Jason’s confidence like rot, making his rough edges sharper, and his drive for improvement to turn to tunnel vision. It was an unfortunate family trait that ran through each of his family members, regardless of blood relation.

“Well, you are in fact still young, Master Jason,” Alfred says gently. “Much younger than I, but I could not hope to achieve what you do out there. There is something to be said about youth and capability, but your skills are not within that realm of questioning.” 

Jason stays quiet at that, fiddling with his gloves to avoid looking at the butler. That was alright, Alfred knew the boy struggled to answer with genuine approval or recognition for his skills. Another thing his boys shared in common. 

While he stews, Alfred leans over to tend to the mask on Jason’s face. The adhesive comes away with a few dabs of a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. Jason screws up his nose at the smell; he always did during post-patrol check-ups. Though, whether that was due to the reminders of Crime Alley or Willis was unclear. Regardless, Alfred made sure to be quick. 

With careful hands, he pulls the mask away from the boy’s face, a small smile lifting his lips at the sight of the familiar blue eyes. “There you are,” he says, the cadence of his voice gentle and warm. 

Jason rolls his eyes, but the small smile on his face undermines whatever aloof persona he was attempting to put up. “Never left, Alfie,” he mutters. 

“And thank goodness for that, you’d take all of Bruce’s talkativeness with you.”

Jason snorts hard enough to rock himself, only to wince and press a hand to his lower ribs. Alfred zeroes in on it like a hawk with prey. “That would be the ‘lucky punch’, then?” He asks, clear of any emotion to avoid raising the boy’s hackles. 

“...Yeah,” Jason concedes hesitantly. “Don’t feel any breaks though.”

“Well, small mercies, indeed.” Alfred carefully unclasps the cloak and lets it pool around Jason, allowing him to check his torso unhindered for any bumps or bruises.  “Does anywhere else feel tender?”

“No. Just my ribs.”

“Hm. I might do a full check of them then, if you do not mind.”

“...Okay.”

A smile lifts the butler’s lips, and he sits on the edge of the cot. “Thank you. Could you please turn to me a bit?” 

Jason complies, lifting one leg to cross in front of him while the other dangles off the edge. Alfred immediately recognizes the defensive position - one leg ready to kick and the other poised to run, should it call for it. His heart squeezes, but he refuses to show it on his face.

Bruce and Alfred learned to be careful when touching Jason early on. The boy had far too many unpleasant experiences from his time on the streets, and reintegrating him back into a world where touch doesn't have to hurt was still an ongoing mission. Bruce had made some progress with hair ruffles and shoulder pats, just testing the waters and taking it slow. Alfred’s time baking with the boy and being the designated Manor Medic had also helped bring down Jason’s self-instilled survival walls. Allowing a full check of a vulnerable area was most definitely solid proof of their combined efforts, but he was still understandably wary. 

Just to ease him into it, Alfred carefully probes around Jason’s collarbone and shoulders, listening for any hisses of air that might escape the boy. Thankfully, Jason seems alright, nothing strained or bruised.

“That’s… not my ribs, Alfie.”

“Oh my, you’re right.” Alfred responds with a feigned air of surprise, “Apologies, my boy.” He moves his hands down Jason’s arms, pressing gentle thumbs into his inner elbows.

Jason raises a brow. “Alfred.”

“Yes?”

“I do want to get outta my costume sometime tonight.”

“I am being thorough.”

Jason huffs, his amusement breaking through. “Right. You sure you don’t need to take an anatomy lesson?”

Alfred hums, pleased to hear the boy sounding genuinely at ease. Not a trace of apprehension within his voice. Trusting. It reassured Alfred to raise his fingers to carefully press into the boy’s lowest ribs, feeling for anything that could allude to something worse than bruises. Immediately, Jason tenses under his fingers, like Alfred worried he would, a small hiss escaping.

“No cracks that I can feel, seems to just be some minor bruising as you said.” He speaks gently, hoping that voicing his actions would help keep the boy’s anxieties at bay. His fingers come away from the bones and settle on his own lap, giving the kid plenty of space. “I would like to check your back ones as well, if that is alright?”

Jason hesitates, biting his lip, then hesitantly nods. His hands curl into his discarded cape, with enough distance between his arms and torso to allow Alfred access. It made the man’s heart warm to see the trust Jason put in him. Such a far cry from the bristling kid who kept his back to the wall and refused to let anyone close. 

“Thank you, Jason,” Alfred says warmly. He makes sure to keep his movements slow, reaching around the sides of the boy’s ribs to press gently at the ones in his back.  

Jason’s leg twitches, his eyes firmly on the cape coiled up in his hands. For a bizarre moment, Alfred thinks he sees his lips tick up.  

“You’re alright there too,” Alfred encourages. “To save us both time, I think it’s best if I simply do both sides at once. Do you think that would be okay, Master Jason?” 

Jason swallows. “Y-Yeah.”

The slightly strained stammer gives Alfred pause, worry prickling through him. Jason hadn’t moved, though, still sitting in front of the butler. If he really was uncomfortable, he’d leave. Or bite. Whatever came first. Alfred takes his permission and carefully shifts his hands, his thumbs on the front bones and fingers on the backs. He gently rubs into them, feeling out for anything of concern. He reports their fit condition, then moves on to the next. And the next. And the next. Each admission remains the same.

He’s halfway up the ribcage and is just pressing in when Jason flinches hard. A small noise gets past his tightly sealed lips, and his shoulders start shaking. 

“Jason?” Alfred freezes. Jason’s hands have come up to clamp onto the man’s wrists, not shoving him away, just keeping them in place. It didn’t feel like a breakage or fracture on either side, but with how badly the boy winced- 

“S-Sohohorry-”

Alfred stares, appalled.

Jason peeks up from under his hair, the curls having fallen into his eyes from his hunched position. The butler is surprised to see an embarrassed grin on the boy’s face, and indeed, small snickers are tumbling free despite the teeth hanging on to his bottom lip to keep them in.

Ah. Well, that is a new development, indeed. 

Alfred finds his own smile pulling at his mouth. “Master Jason, I cannot complete this injury check if you are hanging onto me.” 

Jason nods, fingers flexing on Alfred’s wrists - yet every time he starts to let go, a new surge of snickers takes over his diaphragm and his grip tightens once more. His panicked fight or flight response was way too keyed up to let this ‘threat’ go unattended. Jason knew it wasn’t a threat, though; it was just Alfred. Apparently, his nervous system didn’t get the memo. 

Alfred huffs, a fond laugh somehow making it through his attempt at remaining neutral as not to scare the boy off. “Master Jason.” 

“I'm tryihihing-” Now that he had begun laughing, it seemed the valve had been turned all the way, and now he couldn't seem to stop. 

It must've tickled from the very first set of bones, Alfred thought, rather amused. He’s been trying to hold it together this whole time. 

Somehow, Jason manages to shakily remove his hands from Alfred’s, dropping them to ball into his cape once more. He watches the man's fingers with a giddy trepidation, beginning to curl in on himself despite those fingers not moving an inch. 

“Do you think you can hold still for another minute or two?” Alfred asks, not condescending at all; he was genuinely curious. 

“Yehes.”

“Positive?”

“Alfred.”

It wasn't quite whiny, but goodness, it came close, and that was the best thing Alfred had heard in some time. Whiny meant Jason was being childish. Whiny meant he felt safe enough to do so.  

“I'll try to be quick,” Alfred promises, then massages his thumbs in again. 

Now that the apparent ‘secret’ was out, Jason couldn't help himself. His foot dangling off the side of the bed swung back to hit the frame, a squeaky noise pushed out of his throat that was quickly followed by giggles. Giggles. 

“Alf- Alfihihie!” Jason squirms in place, fingers curled tight within the cape to stop himself from latching on again. He didn’t want to stop the man from doing his task, but god, he hadn’t been tickled in so long that his body wasn’t sure what to do. And Alfred hadn’t even been trying to tickle him. Oh god, was this how all rib check-ups were going to be now? No one put that in the vigilante pamphlet when Jason signed up. Dick could’ve put it in the Robin pamphlet. What the fuck, Dick? Are you a team player or not? 

“Is this why you insist on taking care of rib injuries yourself?” Alfred says to himself in amusement, unsure if Jason was paying attention to him with all that giggling. His fingers shift up a set of bones and gently push into Jason’s back, checking just under his shoulderblades. 

“ALFREHED!” Jason’s legs jolt with the instinctive need to curl into a ball, only held back from following through with the twinge in his lower ribs. “N-Nohohot thEHEere!” 

A gentle tut. “Careful, Jason, you do not wish to aggravate your injury with all that squirming.”

Jason lets out a groan that blends with his giggling. It was Alfred’s fault that he was squirming to begin with! He couldn’t properly roll away as Alfred’s fingers were planted firmly around his ribs. Leaning back would push into them, and it was the same story leaning forward. 

Jason Todd, survivor of Crime Alley and Batman’s sidekick; defeated by a medical checkup and stupidly ticklish ribs. 

The papers would go mad. Reddit would be worse. 

Alfred hums in thought, interrupting Jason’s mental eulogy for his pride. “If it helps at all, Master Jason, Master Dick was twice as bad when it came to rib check-ups. The boy could barely sit still, and if memory serves, he could laugh at frequencies that only the bats could hear.” 

Alfred’s fingers rubbed into Jason’s shoulder blades properly, and it was over. Jason couldn’t help the cascades of tumbling laughter that fell from his lips, the buzzing over those bones making his brain fuzzy and incoherent. “AHAHALF!” His voice cracked embarrassingly in the center, but he was too busy laughing to care. 

Jason wasn’t sure if he could carry on with the injury check for much longer. If he has a cracked upper rib, so be it; he didn’t think he could handle it being checked. Besides, it's not like he wouldn’t feel it twinging with how much he’s laughing-

…Wait.

The realisation makes Jason tip back on the bed, hands jumping from his cape to close around the wrists by his ribcage. “Alfrehehed! I’m gohohood! Nohohothing huhuhurts!” 

Alfred pulls his fingers away, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I did wonder how long it would take for you to realise. I was quite content to keep going up.” One of his fingers reaches over to poke at Jason’s shoulder blade, and the boy yips. “Though I’m not sure the bats would have appreciated the noise.” 

Jason grumbles under his breath, but his face is flushed too pink, and his smile is too genuine to take seriously. Alfred plucks a small bottle from his tray of supplies and hands it to the boy.

“Arnica,” he says as an explanation. “Take two tablets: it should help speed up the healing for those bruises.” 

Jason took the medicine without complaint or suspicion, and if that didn’t just warm Alfred’s heart further. “Take two more tomorrow at breakfast. For now, I’d say a shower and some hot chocolate are also fine remedies for your escapades this evening.”

To his surprise, Jason didn’t immediately spring up to follow through with the gentle instructions. Instead, the boy’s gaze had swivelled to the elevator, something lurking behind his eyes. There was something still eating away at the boy, despite the moment of levity and the butler’s words of encouragement earlier. Alfred takes a gamble. 

“You are still upset with Master Bruce?” 

“I’m not upset.” There’s a frustrated sigh, boots lifting off the bed to swing idly in thought. “I just wish he’d stop acting like I’m helpless out in the field,” Jason admits.  

Alfred smiles at the absurdity of that statement. “When you first met, you stole his tires and struck him with a tire iron.” 

Jason’s lips twitch even as a sheepish look washes over his face. 

“You are the furthest thing from helpless, Jason. Even before Bruce started training you, you were a wildfire. I’m surprised you weren’t running Crime Alley with your tenacity.”

Jason grins up at him, though it flickers out as he speaks. “...So, why does he keep acting like I’m incapable?”

Alfred heaves a tired sigh, silently regretting not getting a handle on Bruce’s emotional constipation before it could take root. It was leaving him with far too many miscommunications to clean up. “Master Bruce is not treating you as though you are incapable, Jason. He is treating you like his son.” 

He says it gently, yet Jason still flinches like it had been shouted. “He worries for your safety, and that one day he may not be fast enough to reach you should you be in imminent danger. It may feel stifling at times, or perhaps discourteous to jump into fights you can handle, but he is simply trying to protect you. Just because you have survived worse in the past does not mean you have to endure anything that plagues you now. Master Bruce struggles to put it into words, but he really does care for you, my dear boy.”

Alfred’s little speech left Jason looking firmly at the floor, his shoulders once more raised to his ears. His face has taken on a darker shade of pink, mouth screwed up in an attempt at a scowl when really, his eyes were alight with something that made Alfred’s heart seize painfully. This poor boy. Did he really not see how endeared this family was to him?

After a few moments, Jason hesitantly lifts his head. “...I should probably go apologize for snapping then, huh?”

“I do not think you should apologize for stating your displeasure with his habit of running into your battles, but yes, the snapping was rather ungentlemanly."

Jason snorts, this time only with a minimal wince from his ribs. “Ungentlemanly’,” he repeats with a small snicker as he slips off the cot. “I’m from Crime Alley, Alfie. Not exactly ‘Silver Spoon’ material.”

“Never too late to pick up some manners, Master Jason. And besides…” He gently scuttles two fingers along Jason’s shoulder blades and smiles at the squeak that gets out. The boy clamps a hand over the area and glares up at him, his face even pinker. “I now have some motivation for you to remember them.” 

________________

“Master Jason.”

The horrified tone makes Jason whip around, halted in his trek through the Batcave. Alfred stands near the base of the stairs, a stack of towels in his arms for the training area, staring at the boy in blatant shock. 

“Oh, hey, Alf.”

Alfred places the towels down on a nearby table, eyes never leaving him. “What in God’s name did you do to yourself?” 

Jason glances down at his clothes. “Ah. ...If it makes you feel better, most of this blood isn’t mine.’’

Alfred purses his lips, then lets out a steadying breath. “It may surprise you, Master Jason, but I am not comforted by such a claim.” 

Funny, Bruce usually was. 

Jason shrugs. “No one died, and some scum won’t be causing harm for quite a while. Job well done.” 

He continues with his mission of getting to the manor kitchens. Alfred always had the best quality flour, and Jason was in a baking mood. No one else was in the house, so it was a safe bet to use the space now. As he walks, however, his gait is interrupted by the slightest limp. Barely perceptible, but to Alfred, it’s all too obvious. 

“Are you injured?”

Jason reaches the stairs. “Not anything worth worrying about.”

“I worry, Jason.”

That takes the wind out of Jason’s aloofness. He goes quiet, looking at the butler who hasn’t broken his gaze away. Jason heaves a breath, cursing himself for being able to be brash with everyone except this old man. Too many golden memories linked to him or something mushy like that. 

“It’s just a scratch,” he says.

“Master Tim once described a lethal stab wound in such a way. I will feel better looking at it myself.” 

“Alfred-” 

“Master Jason. Cot. Now, please.”

Jason winces, his thirteen-year-old self immediately crumbling and tugging on his legs to get moving.  “Fine, if it makes you feel better,” he grumbles, acting like he isn’t hightailing it to the bed in the corner. 

Alfred is all business. Immediately, he strides to the cupboards tucked into the dark encolves of the Batcave, and pulls out the medical equipment available. Jason shucks off his blood-stained jacket preemptively, knowing damn well the butler would insist on having a ‘proper look’. He tried not to feel too exposed with his protective layering gone. 

“You’ll do me the favour of telling me what hurts, won’t you?” Alfred asks dryly, popping his supplies on the trolley by the bedside. “Or will I need to play a most testing game of “Find The Wound?” 

Jason, despite his begrudging attitude, lets out an amused huff at that. He concedes, “Right calf got nicked by some lunatic with a metal bat, so that’s smarting a bit.”

“Oh, just a metal bat? Nothing to fret about then.” Despite his dismissive words, Alfred is quick to crouch by Jason and roll up the pant leg, observing the skin that’s already starting to bruise around the swelling. “Nicked?”

Jason makes a so-so gesture and avoids eye contact. ”More like a lucky swing. It’s not too bad.”

“...Good Lord.” Alfred heaves a long-suffering sigh and plucks some ointment from his collection. 

Jason winces when fingers touch on the injury, but Alfred is careful. He always has been. He’s quiet as the older man gently applies the salve to his calf, trying not to acknowledge the warm swell of appreciation he has. Even the coolness of the cream is helping the flares of pain that’ve been pulsing through his leg for the last hour. He’d been planning on dealing with it eventually, but after the whole fiasco with those goons, he really just wanted to unwind with a bit of stress baking and sleep for fifteen hours afterwards.

Being taken care of… it wasn’t exactly something Jason had allowed himself the luxury of since he got back. He’d forgotten it was something he could rely on now. Not that it crosses his mind much, he’s still not exactly in a good place with all of the family. A certain bat is at the top of the list of his reasons. 

“You are lucky it didn’t break the bone,” Alfred murmurs, twisting the ointment cap back on and wiping his fingers off on a cloth. He then turns a scrutinising look at Jason, who definitely does not hunch in on himself. “Anywhere else?”

Jason hesitates. 

Ah, what the hell. In for a penny, and all that jazz. It’s not like there was anyone home to see him be vulnerable for five minutes. 

“...I think my back was nicked too.”

“Nicked as in ‘mildly agitated’, or as in ‘lucky swing, and am currently dying’?” 

Jason snorts at the dry humor and surprises himself with the genuine grin he sends Alfred. “Mildly agitated,” he says as the butler walks around the cot to stand behind him. He pulls off his shirt so the man can get a look. 

Alfred notes the slight red abrasions on the young man’s spine and lower back, a frown pulling his mouth down. “Do you know what you were struck by?” He asks.

“Didn’t get a good enough look, electricity-based weapon, I think.” Jason thumbs at his shirt in his fingers to distract himself from Alfred’s disapproving eyes raking over his scarred skin. He isn’t exactly self-conscious, but he isn’t loving his tapestry of past fights being stared at like he’s a museum piece. The sooner Alfred deals with it, the quicker he can escape into the kitchen as he planned. He hears a cap being unscrewed, and a minty aroma penetrates the air. 

“This might be a bit cold, Master Jason. I do apologize in advance.”

Jason lurches forward before he even properly registers the sensation ghosting over his spine, an aborted sound squeezing his diaphragm. He’s fast to snap his head over his shoulder, eyes wide and body hunched protectively on itself as the tingles dissipate from his skin.

Alfred looks just as surprised as Jason, though his moustache wiggles the barest margin as he tries to tamp down a smile. Eventually, after a few beats, he says, “Ah. I had forgotten about that.” 

Heat crawls up Jason’s neck, and he grits his teeth against the groan that threatens to come out. Whether from annoyance or embarrassment is anyone's guess. “Not a word,” he grouches, forcing his gaze back to his shirt despite his fight or flight response yelling at him to keep facing this threat. 

Alfred hums, amusement far too evident for Jason’s liking. “I will be quick.”

Jason gets flashbacks to that exact phrase being used during post-patrol check-ups and braces himself instinctively. Regardless, tensing doesn’t matter. The moment Alfred’s fingers touch down on his spine, he flinches and grips his shirt tight in an effort to stay put on the cot. The ointment is cold, but that isn’t the problem. Despite the years passing, his back continues to be his Achilles heel. 

Soft, ghosting tingles crawl across his skin, light enough to raise goosebumps, kickstarting his need to laugh almost instantaneously. It’s mortifying. His face feels like it's on fire. He breathes slowly through his nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent anything else from slipping out. If he can get through this without laughing, he might just be able to get out of this without losing all of his street cred.

“Whatever you were hit with, the abrasion has stretched itself out, Master Jason,” Alfred says, his tone neutral despite the warmth blooming in his chest from seeing the boy’s ears slowly going pink. “I’m afraid I’ll need to apply some ointment to your ribs as well.”

Fuck.

“Cool.” Jason grits out.

Fucking fuck.

Alfred’s fingers return to his back, increasing pressure to hopefully avoid Jason’s nerves freaking out. It doesn’t help. Jason’s heel slams into the cot just as his shoulders jump to his ears. An embarrassingly high-pitched grunt squeezes out of his tightly pressed lips, which barely contain the snickers building behind them. The jerky movement is so painfully familiar to his youthful days. Kicking or slapping at surfaces was both a way to cope with the ticklish sensations and also because he had no idea how to fend them off. 

Fingers rub into the grooves between his ribs, and Jason can’t stop the snort that manages to weasel out, a hand shoving over his mouth as if that could cover the sound. He prays Alfred will move on, but those fingers just kept massaging into the bones, and Jason was only a man; he couldn’t hold out forever. It was when Alfred’s fingers moved upwards into the next set of bones with that methodical massage that he cracked. 

“Fuhuhucking- shihihit!” Jason gasps, his boot kicking the base of the cot once more as his laughter finally spills out, breathy and whole. It’s the best thing Alfred’s heard all day.

“Swear jar, Master Jason,” Alfred answers primly, his fingers reaching out just enough to scrape along the sides of Jason’s torso as he draws his hands away. 

Jason jerks like he’s been electrocuted and bunches his shoulders tighter around his ears. “I’m ihihin my twehehenties!” He tries to growl, but it gets tangled up in a series of snorts when those fingers return to his back with a fresh dosage of ointment.

“So is Master Dick, and yet he pays the same toll.” Alfred returns to Jason’s ribs, following the curling trail of inflamed skin that trails across his back. “Master Bruce is nearing forty, and he, too, follows this rule.” 

Jason stopped listening once Dick was brought up. Too distracted by the ticklish sensations climbing all over his ribs in an endless pattern that keeps him giggling. He didn’t think he’d laughed this much since he came back. 

Alfred’s fingers curl close to his armpit, and Jason can’t stop the giggly whine that slips out, barely resisting driving an elbow into his side to block the area. “A-Alfrehehed, c’mohohon!” He hates how whingey he sounds, but damnit, he was out of practice with this, and Alfred felt safe enough to actually let his younger instincts take the wheel on this one. 

“I am almost finished,” Alfred reassures gently, fondness intertwining with his voice despite his efforts to remain indifferent to save Jason further embarrassment. His fingers move up to rub the ointment into Jason’s shoulderblades.

“GoHOHODAhamnit!” Jason’s voice pitches up in a squeak, his body instinctively tightening itself into a ball, and only exposing his back fully to Alfred with the stretch. He shoves his face into his knees, able to feel the heat radiating from his skin even through his pants. He tries not to think of how visible his blush probably is. “Alfihihie!”

It takes all of Alfred’s resolve not to melt on the spot, because that wasn’t Red Hood talking, that was thirteen-year-old Robin in all his glory. Jason’s breathy cackles light up the space of the cave, a sound dearly missed when he departed from their family too soon. As loath as Alfred was to relinquish the sound, Jason never could handle his back being tickled for an extended period of time - unless it was the softer kind, of course. Though that was probably still a few months out from being acted upon, Jason had only trusted Bruce with that privilege afterall. 

“There we are, all done.” 

Alfred removes his hand and has to stop himself from laughing when Jason yanks on his shirt in a split second, turning on the cot to keep his back from the butler’s reach. His face is flushed a healthy pink that threw Alfred back to when the boy was still new to the manor. Easy to aggravate, and even easier to fluster with sincerity. Adorable, if Alfred did say so himself.

“I will not need to apply this again unless it becomes worse, Master Jason.” Alfred wipes his hands off once more, allowing the boy to recollect himself after being inadvertently tickled to bits. “So make sure to rest it, yes?”

Jason nods, his lips still caught in a smile despite the glare he was attempting to project. Some things really did never change. Alfred packs up the last of the equipment and is about to offer to accompany Jason upstairs when the young crime lord grumbles. 

“I thought I grew out of this.” Jason’s face is still pink as he growls out the words. It’s about as intimidating as a kitten spitting defensively.

Alfred wisely keeps his amused chuckle quiet, seeing past Jason’s prickliness to what it really was: the kid was flustered. “I wouldn’t have expected you to grow out of it. Master Bruce certainly hasn’t.”

The silence was deafening. 

“What?”

The awed, and more importantly, menacing grin on Jason’s face gave the old man pause. Bollocks. Bruce was not going to be happy about that Freudian slip. “...Ah,” Alfred presses his eyes shut for a moment before fixing Jason with a slightly sheepish smile. “Let’s keep that between us, shall we?” 

Jason’s grin was twice the size, a gleeful laugh leaving him in a bark. “Not even on your ancestors' crumpets, Alfie. That is too damn good to pass up-”

“Need I remind you that Master Bruce is all too aware of your own sensitivities, and if the bear is poked, it will attack?” Alfred interrupts, but he can practically see the gears turning in Jason’s head. There was no stopping this now. 

After a moment of pondering the warning, Jason proves Alfred’s hunch in two seconds with a smirk. “Think Dickie and TimTam will help?”

The butler tries not to look too exhilarated by Jason suggesting something so domestic to do with his adoptive father and brothers. They’d been taking small steps on fixing things, but this would be a leap in the right direction.